


They Have Always Lived in the Castle

by GeorgeEmerson



Category: Mark of the Vampire (1935)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:52:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgeEmerson/pseuds/GeorgeEmerson
Summary: Luna, Irena, and Irena's "father" discover what others knew all along: there have always been vampires in the castle.





	They Have Always Lived in the Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingacademy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Happily written for laughingacademy. This was a blast to create and I truly hope you enjoy it.

The night air inside the large, carved armoire was close and humid. The armoire had belonged to Irena's mother before her death – and Irena supposed it now belonged to her. She had never paid it much attention, except to occasionally marvel at the intricate carvings lacing the dark walnut doors. She'd never even opened it, truth be told, much less wondered whether three terrified adults could simultaneously fit into its main cavern. 

She knew the answer to that now – the three of them huddled there, uncomfortably pressed together but concealed from onlookers, as they watched the scene in Sir Karell's study unfold through the crack between the doors. 

Feodor, empty-eyed and smeared in gore, hunched hungrily over Baron Otto's lifeless body in the middle of the stone room. His fangs were nauseatingly crimson. Standing over them both was a woman Irena had never seen before. She was tall and rail thin with hair & skin as ghostly white as the coat of Father's old, trusted hunting dog – a Slovenský Čuvač he'd fondly named Darius. The woman petted Feodor's head with her taloned, bejeweled hands as he noisily drank from the Baron. A single black beetle crawled out from between the folds of her rotting brocade gown and scuttled across her bosom.

Irena tried not to vomit. Next to her, Filip (who she was relieved to no longer have to call “Father”) shuddered slightly and shifted. The armoire groaned under the weight. Irena clutched his familiar-looking hand in hers. 

“I'd be remiss if I didn't point out the irony of Otto meeting his maker in this particular way,” Filip murmured. 

From the opposite corner of the armoire, Luna hissed. “I thought that coot Zelin said there are no real vampires here.” 

Nearby, they heard the suit of armor gently clank. “You misunderstood me, my dear,” came Zelin's muffled voice. “They have always lived in the castle.” 

* * *

The first mention of Borotyn Castle, as it is currently known, is found amongst the writings of Brother Ladislaus Desideratus. Brother Ladislaus was a Hungarian monk who made Kostanjevica na Krki his home for a short period in the mid-1440s. The monk – by all accounts a holy man with an usually keen interest in rural Slovenian economic trends – took it upon himself to create a historical record of the town during his residency there, interviewing the villagers and transcribing their remarks. 

The works of Brother Ladislaus have never been published in English. Fortunately, Synnove A. Zempel presents a thorough analysis of the portions concerning the castle in her slim but elaborately-titled volume _Prestrašiti: Ghosts, Demons, Spirits and the Undead in the Southern Realms of the Holy Roman Empire during the Late Middle Ages_ (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1972). Zempel dedicates pages 67 – 73 to the topic, writing:

“Anxious Latin notations from Brother Ladislaus absolutely litter this portion of the records, which are otherwise only a methodical recitation of the town's births, deaths, and agricultural output. When writing about the castle, an elegant weathered structure with a towering stone keep connected to flanking turrets by a single delicate battlement, Ladislaus suddenly becomes emotionally engaged.

The villagers, he writes, mostly refused to speak of it. He asked each who'd agreed to be interviewed. Some made the sign of the cross. Others shook in fear. One simply drew the collar of his woolen shirt away from his ruddy neck, displaying for Ladislaus the remnants of what appeared to be a vicious attack – two deep, tiny craters in the flesh angrily surrounded by tumors of pale scar tissue.

Those brave souls who would speak did so fearfully. Their tales were whispered anxiously between fervent prayers. The castle was built generations ago, they said, by Ratimir the Posthumous – so named, the villagers first assumed, because Ratimir's father's death preceded Ratimir's birth. It was not long before they questioned this conclusion, Ladislaus notes next to a shaky ink scribble of a menacing red spider.

Ratimir came to Kostanjevica na Krki from unknown origins. He was a monied, titled robber-baron who appeared during the Great Interregnum when lawlessness among the ruling classes flourished unchecked. His first act in the village was to erect the castle in the very heart of town. His second was to guard it. 

Ratimir exacted a heavy toll from those who dared to use his roads or walk his lands. Given the location of the castle, it was near impossible for the villagers not to do so. During the day, the grounds were stalked by an unearthly, beedy-eyed youth Ratimir referred to as his “ward.” Those unfortunate passers-by who failed to pay the exorbitant price for passage were met with swift retribution from the ward, a beating issued with a heavy staff and warnings not to return without ready cash.

When darkness fell, Ratimir himself stood watch from the castle. Few who encountered him under these circumstances lived to tell the tale, the villagers told Ladislaus – but those who did reported seeing a malevolent figure cloaked in black pacing excitedly upon the parapet. There were no requests for funds made from the travelers under the cover of night; instead, the innocents would watch in mute horror as the dark figure rose up, against all laws of man and God, into the suddenly starless sky. It swooped down upon them like an enormous bird of prey. It landed among them soundlessly, eyeing all in their party with an obvious lust, and demanding they “take refuge” in the castle til dawn.

It is here in the records that Ladislaus draws a simple, poignant cross above a shaky sketch of a young mother crouching in terror with her arms about her small child while the demonic figure with downward sloping wings slinks toward them. No further details are offered about the woman or the villager who presumably offered up this harrowing account. 

Those who did not or could not flee from Ratimir's invitation into the bowels of the castle rarely emerged. At times, an unnaturally pale corpse with parallel punctures in the neck would be found along the shores of the river. At others, a lone mule branded with the initials of the disappeared would be found trudging along a muddy path out of town, pulling a cart full of orphaned belongings. Horrified residents often reported seeing Ratimir's ward wearing their missing husband or brother's best tunics and leather boots, their daughter or little cousin's single piece of fine jewelry. One elderly woman, identified by Ladislaus as 'Militsa the cordwainer's wife', wept as she recalled a story she was told by her grandmother as a young girl. Her grandmother was being beaten by Ratimir's ward for failing to pay the toll – and saw her own beloved missing sister's best silver brooch pinned upon his shirt as he rained blows upon her. There was blood upon it.”

* * *

“Zelin?” Filip asked incredulously. “How the devil did you have time to get into a full suit of armor?” 

Zelin cleared his throat. “I may have already been fitting myself into it when the commotion arose,” he admitted reluctantly. “I felt I deserved an award after such rousing investigatory success.”

Luna snickered. “Lucky.”

“I'll say,” agreed Filip. “We barely made it into this chest before the Queen of the Damned and her dull-witted minion spotted us. Happily for us, Otto put up quite a struggle and delayed them a bit,” he added under his breath. It was Luna's turn to shudder then. 

Irena batted him on the shoulder. “That dull-witted minion is my fiance,” she admonished. She felt, rather than saw, Filip raise an eyebrow in her direction. 

“My dear, I am truly sorry for your loss. And I hope you do see that it is a loss...” His fingers tightened around hers. “There is no returning from what Feodor has become.”

Before them, Feodor slowly unfurled himself from his crouching position. Otto's body remained on the floor unmoving, his skin eerily pallid. Irena tried, but failed, to feel much sympathy for him. 

“But how did this happen?” Irena asked wretchedly. “The attack on my sweet...” The unknown woman opened her arms to Feodor, who tripped over Otto's body in his excitement for her musty embrace. Feodor's blood-smeared lips met her cold, withered ones; Irena could hear the click of their fangs as they deeply kissed. She gagged slightly. Even the beetle seemed taken aback. Luna grimaced, reaching over to pet Irena's hair in sympathy. 

“The attack on... on him, on Feodor, it was merely part of the evil ruse put on by Baron Otto!” Irena continued. “Otto knocked Feodor out on the road, Otto made those marks on his neck!”

“Not so,” said Zelin quietly from the suit of armor. “I apologize to you, Irena, and to you, Luna and Filip. I had to make you each believe the attack on Feodor was yet another evil act by Otto. Had you known it was the work of the Undead, you would surely have fled immediately and Sir Karell's murder would have gone unavenged.”

“I hope you choke on Bat-Thorn,” Luna growled. “Zelin, you knew all along that the others – me, Jaromir, Anton, Filip – were living in the castle with that thing!” She gestured towards the woman, who was now patiently instructing Feodor on the art of turning into a bat. She did it herself – seamlessly transforming into one of those hairy, veined creatures. She flapped noiselessly towards the ceiling and clung to it upside down. 

Below her, Feodor morphed. He began the climb towards the ceiling – before catching sight of his own reflection in the study window and attacking it, shrieking and flapping wildly into the glass over and over. Irena had never heard a bat sigh in annoyance before, but instinctively knew that was the sound that came from the ceiling. 

Filip glanced at her. “Dull-witted minion,” he confirmed. She reluctantly nodded and he smiled a bit. 

“Dearest Luna,” Zelin continued. “That's woman is not just 'a thing'. I believe that is the famous Baroness Heduwig!” 

There was a pause. 

“Who?” Luna asked. 

* * * 

The second known mention of Borotyn Castle:

Anonymous, **“The Baroness”** (traditional folk ballad, written down by Brodny Yablonsky in 1657). 

_It is a high-borne Vampyr,_  
_And she feasteth upon two of three,_  
_“By thy unnerving stare and blood-strewn gown,_  
_Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?_

_Thy castle's doors are yawning wide,_  
_And I see mine lover's corpse within;_  
_Hold off! Unhand me, white-haired loon!_  
_May'st thou call a Priest to whom I can confess my sins?”_

_She holds him with steely claw, not hand,_  
_“I care naught for thy mortal soul,” quoth she_  
_“Thy lover's neck was tender but my famine for thine remains.”_  
_Eftsoons an dismal sense of hopelessness felt he._

_“Mercy,” he croaks and hears her laugh._  
_She quoth: “I am a Vampyr; Ratimir showed no mercy to me.”_  
_“He appeared on my wedding eve whilst I was an innocent child in ivory_  
_And left me like this, my screams ne'er heard over my own wedding guests' glee.”_

_She stares at him with glittering eye, into a trance fell he_  
_Her victim remained still as the tree of fig,_  
_And as her decrepit lips touched his trembling neck, she crooned into his ear_  
_“Thy shall knowst me as thy destructor, the Baroness Heduwig.”_

* * *

“Heduwig,” gasped Irena. “Why, that's the name I found carved into the stone floor of our Ice House as a little girl! Father never did properly explain why I wasn't allowed to play there. I knew he didn't care a whit about me catching a small cold.” 

“Do you think she was in there all this time?” Luna sounded horrified. Irena thoroughly sympathized. Luna's brief turn as the Daughter of Count Mora couldn't have prepared her for the reality of unwittingly sharing lodgings with a creature like Heduwig. 

“It is entirely possible,” Zelin responded. “Perhaps buried there alive – or unalive -- by one of Sir Karell's predecessors upon the discovery of her slumbering figure.” Irena could hear the helmet clank as Zelin sadly shook his head. “A grave folly, to be sure. It was only a matter of time before such a powerful form of evil would escape human trappings.”

“Yes, alright,” Filip spoke sharply. “Zelin, on the topic of escape – I'm afraid the time has come for us to leave you, my friend.”

Irena refocused her attention on Feodor and the Baroness, now jerkily flapping in unison amongst the cobwebs in the rafters. 

“He's right,” Luna said. “We can reach the door before they spot us and change again, but we must go now.”

“Correct. Irena?” Filip asked. “If we are going, we must go now.”

Irena paused. Zelin would never be able to untangle himself from the armor without causing so much noise and commotion that the vampires would be alerted. He would need to wait silently until daylight. 

Filip shifted again, impatiently now. In the hot darkness of the armoire, their three bodies had begun to mold against one another. Irena held Filip's hand and pressed against the reassuring weight of Luna's fingers in her hair. She could feel Filip's chest rise and fall with each breath, could feel Luna moving with the same rhythm on his far side. 

Filip's resemblance to Father confused her. Luna's blatantly seductive midnight “attacks” on her, no matter that they were part of an elaborate plan, confused her. Pleasantly, perhaps, which was a consideration for a different time and place. But Father, her real father, was gone. Her sweet, if simple, Feodor was no more. Zelin had placed them into their current predicament with his calculated lies. 

Irena trusted Filip and Luna. They were all she had. She placed her manicured hand on the door of the armoire, ready to push. “We must go now,” she agreed. 

Hand in hand, they ran. 

* * *

The final known mention of Borotyn Castle came shortly after Filip, Luna, and Irena's escape in 1893. We have reproduced it here in its entirety for your use and enjoyment. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
IMPERIAL AND INTERNATIONAL COMMUNICATIONS LIMITED  
Central Cable Office  
Tower Chambers  
Moorgate, London E.C.S. 

DUA 17 Ljubljana 21 30 1647

ZELIN, PROF. T.

FILIP LUNA IRENA ARRIVE SAFE IN MANCHESTER STOP PLAN TO REFORM  
ACTING TROOP STOP SEND BEST REGARDS AND BAT-THORN STOP PLEASE  
ALERT AS TO YOUR WELLBEING STOP WE SUGGEST LEAVE THE CASTLE TO  
OUR FORMER FRIEND STOP YOURS IRENA

\-------------------------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like an apology to Samuel Taylor Coleridge might be deserved after that "ballad." Sorry, Sam, my stanza lengths cannot be controlled.


End file.
